


say my name

by zxrysky



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Angst, Betrayal, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Family, Galra Keith (Voltron), Galra!Keith, Gen, Hinted Character Death, OC, OC Character Death, does dislocating someone's jaw count as graphic depictions of violence, galra - Freeform, if you think it does please drop me a note, or at least
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-21
Updated: 2016-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-10 03:07:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7828075
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zxrysky/pseuds/zxrysky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For as long as Keith can remember, his family’s been different. Not good different, not bad different, just not the same as other families, as other people. </p><p>His father is the color of the sky at night, dark purple echoing in his skin; his mother is the color of the sky in the morning, when yellow bleeds into orange and it’s light, it’s bright, it’s pink. He’s purple, like his father, and he’s also pink, like his mother. </p><p>His family is very, very different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	say my name

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in one day please pray for me

For as long as Keith can remember, his family’s been different. Not good different, not bad different, just not the same as other families, as other people.

 

His father is the color of the sky at night, dark purple echoing in his skin; his mother is the color of the sky in the morning, when yellow bleeds into orange and it’s light, it’s bright, it’s pink. He’s purple, like his father, and he’s also pink, like his mother.

 

His family is very, very different.

 

-=-

 

The other children laugh at him. They’re the darkest shade of purple, darker than his father, with large ears and bright yellow eyes, the way all children are, before they hit maturity. They’re fluffy, fur incapable of being tamed and their claws are still blunt, making ear piercing noises when they scratch it against metal, but nothing else.

 

Those claws aren’t supposed to be capable of hurt. But they press against him, against his soft pale skin that Keith can’t help but change into because he can’t control the shift, not when he’s a _half_ , the derogatory terms splitting through his mind, and the claws hurt. There aren’t layers of fur to bypass, not when he’s in the pale, pink form his mother inhabits, and he comes home with cuts on his cheeks and scars lining his knees.

 

His father never sees them, because he always goes to his mother first.

 

She looks at him, long and hard, and there is no mercy in those eyes, no sadness, no pity. She presses a finger under his chin, nails painted black like the cloth she wears, and tilts his head up to look at his injuries.

 

His battle scars, not injuries. Because he is his father’s son, and he gives as good as he gets. The other children are left screaming, crying as they hunch over themselves and Keith is scolded by the teacher, but the teacher doesn’t dare reprimand him too harshly for fear of backlash from his father.

 

Keith knows this. His mother knows this. She places a cream on his wounds - it stings, the way the cream seeps into open flesh; it feels like the ache of claws digging into him tenfold, like pouring ice water on a burn, like tripping and opening up the just scabbed over wound on his knee.

 

She doesn’t say a word, and Keith stays silent, tilting his head up, opening his palms face up, standing straight for her to look at his knees and cover up all the scars with a faint pink cream.

 

He’s seen his mother use the cream before, to cover up the scars of her own, to cover up her own battle wounds and hurt. It disguises, it buries, it conceals, and his father doesn’t know.

 

She packs up, placing the bottles and containers back into this tiny carved ornamental box that she carries around. A gift from his father, on the day they were bonded. Something precious to her.

 

“Don’t cry,” she says after a pause, thumb coming to roughly rub at the tear streaks on Keith’s cheek. He’s still pale and pink, but more often than not by the next morning he’ll be back to purple and furry, and all the battle wounds will disappear like druid magic. “You’ll ruin the makeup.”

 

He nods, blinking away whatever tears are left over, and she stills, thumb still under his eye, pressing against the skin.

 

“They can’t hurt you,” she says, eyes strong and burning with unimaginable power, and she’s soft, pale, pink - nothing like the other children, nothing like the other adults, nothing like his father.

 

Keith looks up, looks at his mother, and clenches his fists.

 

They can’t hurt him.

 

-=-

 

He’s not sure what his father does. Sometimes he leaves on missions, missions that could be a few days, or could take weeks, maybe months. Sometimes he brings back little trinkets, souvenirs to gift to Keith’s mother, and rarely- _very rarely_ , he brings back something for Keith.

 

Today, it’s a knife, small enough to fit in his palms, the hilt adorned with their sigils and it’s wrapped in silver. The knife glints, and Keith tests it against his palm.

 

Red wells up, bright and strong and blinding, and he pretends that there isn’t pain. He looks up, and his father nods in approval, taking the knife and showing him how to grind it, how to keep it sharp, how to sheath it and tie it to his waist.

 

He sucks on the wound as he watches, lets his life force - the color of falling stars as they enter the atmosphere, blazing with trails of reds, oranges, and yellows following after - pool in his mouth.

 

His father has a strong jaw, sharp teeth, hooded eyes and he’s usually wearing a helmet to frame his face, but when he’s here with Keith, in the quiet tranquility of the space they’re given, he takes off his helmet and lets Keith hold it.

 

It’s huge, almost the size of Keith’s chest, and as he holds it, trying not to accidentally slice his palm on it and reopen his cut, he looks up at his father and wonders if he’ll grow to be as big as him someday, regardless of what all the children say at his school with mocking eyes and words like needles.

 

The knife is the length of Keith’s arm, sharp enough to hurt, to main, to kill, and Keith stares at it for a moment longer than necessary, unconsciously straying closer to his father, pressing up against his leg and leaning against him. It’s a little too big for him right now, though the grip is perfect.

 

“I will teach you.” His father’s hand lands on his head, slowly ruffling his hair. “You will learn to use it like an extension of yourself.”

 

He knows his father uses weapons similar to this - he’s seen his father use a whip longer than his ship, a sword almost as big as his father, a gun that releases a beam brighter and more deadly than the ones on the ship.

 

Maybe not so similar, he thinks, looking down at the knife that suddenly, seems so small.

 

-=-

 

He has less fur than the other children. It’s probably because his father doesn’t have as much fur, not like his commanders, not like most of the adults who are covered in it, an outer layer of protection, slightly thinner than the ones children have now.

 

The children, surprisingly, are nicer to him when he looks like them. Nicer is figurative - subjective, because they’re more willing to talk to him, more willing to bond with him, but their words still sting like nails running down his skin.

 

“I hear your father only married your mother because she doesn’t look like us,” one of them says, and Keith freezes. “She’s pretty and pink, isn’t she? That’s what they all call her.”

 

His mother- his mother is strong, she’s doused in crimson, she wields a whip like a third arm, she’s _more_ than just pretty and pink. She’s brave, she’s tall, her back is straight like there’s metal rods in there and she holds her head high, making sure everyone knows she belongs here.

 

“Kandor,” Keith spits bitterly, fingers curling and claws digging into his palms. It’s a very bad word, he knows - he’s heard his father whisper it under his breath when he looks at papers, he’s heard commanders scream it at each other when they fight, he’s heard it in the movies that his mother watches with him curled up by her side, and her lips curl up whenever they swear.

 

The children all gasp, loud and high, and one of them goes crying to the teacher.

 

“Don’t ever say that about my mother again,” Keith says, and his eyes must be glowing, brighter than yellow, brighter than orange, the way his mother says they do when he loses his temper. “ _Kandor._ ”

 

The teacher comes in time to hear his last word and she gasps as well, hand flying to her face to cover her mouth, eyes wide. “Keith!” She says, shocked, and doesn’t say anything else.

 

 _That’s right_ , Keith thinks. And secretly, in his heart, he thinks another swear word that his mother taught him late at night, with his father just a distance away, lips pulled up into what could constitute as a smile.

 

“Fuck you,” he says, loud and clear, and no one understands what it means.

 

-=-

 

His hair is black, like his mother’s. It doesn’t tumble down to the middle of his back like hers, but it brushes against his neck and falls in his eyes.

 

His mother sits behind him and combs it out for him, brushing her fingers through his hair and shaping it into something presentable. It’s how he gets ready for ceremonies, with how many his father has to attend.

 

She helps him do his hair, helps him get into his robes - midnight blue, because black is for his parents only - and she’s the one who straps his knife to his waist for him, and helps him wear his arm guards.

 

Later, when Keith is waiting outside his parents’ room, peeking in through the door, his father is standing behind his mother, using a small engraved golden comb to brush it out, untangling all the knots and making sure it flows like a river. They whisper to each other, quiet nothings murmured under their breaths and Keith shouldn’t be watching this, it’s a private pre-ceremony ritual, but they’re his parents and they’re so rarely affectionate like this that he wants to watch.

 

His father sweeps his gloved fingers through his mother’s hair one last time, lingering at the end, fingers curling around the strands and he stands, looking at the full length mirror and adjusting his robes.

 

His mother stands beside him, painting red powder on her cheeks and a slightly darker pink underneath that. Her lips are the color of Keith’s blood, and she looks ethereal. A vision in the night, amongst the other citizens. They all pale in comparison to her.

 

She looks beautiful, and his father looks just as regal standing beside her, and it’s easy to forget who’s the one with more power when they stand next to each other.

 

-=-

 

There are many different languages. Of course; they’re in space, there’s bound to be many different languages. Different planets. Different cultures. Every planet has their own unique language, more often than not.

 

But the language they’ve all come to adopt is, conveniently, the one that they use on the planet his mother came from. They haven’t really worked out the quirks of the language, which is why the citizens look to his mother as a reference.

 

It’s why his mother can teach him curse words no one understands except for her and his father.

 

He learns the intricacies of his father’s language and his mother’s language, and sometimes he mixes the two by accident, pausing when he can’t find the correct word and using the word from another language instead.

 

That’s the one thing the children respect him for. For holding two languages in his palms, gripping them by the neck and breaking into them, deconstructing them, understanding them even when his fur is thick and eyes are bright yellow. He’s a child, but he’s better than some adults at the common language.

 

And of course, he’s become pretty skilled with the knife hanging off his belt, and the children give him a wide berth.

 

The royal hilt does mean that he can use it whenever he wants, though Keith’s not that vicious.

 

-=-

 

They attend many celebrations. Celebrations that are held on different planets, in different areas of the universe, and Keith waits with his mother as the ship travels through warp holes to reach said planets.

 

These planets are always very indebted to his father, and his father’s team are always very well received. But this time, they’re flying to visit an allied planet.

 

There’s a man, skin brown like the ink they use to write, ears pointed, and blue at the highpoints of his cheeks. His hair is white - long, like his mother’s, and white, like clouds passing in the sky.

 

He’s a teammate of his father’s, supposedly. From a different planet too, but that means nothing, seeing as the whole team is made of people from different planets, according to his mother. Keith’s never really seen any of his father’s teammates, just heard of them through word of mouth.

 

“You must be Keith,” the man says, bending down to be on eye-level with him. His mother stands next to him, hand on his back, and she’s a steady presence behind him. He nods in response, claws pressing into his palms. He’s not sure if his eyes are glowing brighter.

 

He’ll be frank, he’s a little nervous.

 

The man smiles, and holds out his hand for Keith to shake. His hand is big and warm, and there are battle wounds present too, marring the brown skin. It makes Keith feel a little better.

 

“I’m a good friend of your father’s,” the man continues, and he looks up, shooting a smile at Keith’s mother. “Welcome to the yearly celebration of Altea.”

 

Keith tilts his head to look at his mother, and he watches how her eyes soften, her lips curl up, and if she’s comfortable here, it must mean his father is comfortable here. It must mean they’re safe, and that they can enjoy the celebration without having to worry about anything.

 

He doesn’t grip his mother’s hand as they walk into the castle grounds, but he does stay close to her, close enough to trip on the trail of her robes if he doesn’t notice where he’s going.

 

The castle is big and blue, marble white walls with artificial blue light glowing inside, and there are food and drinks piled on floating platforms, hovering just a little above waist level for easy access.

 

Not for Keith, who hasn’t hit maturity. He only comes up to his mother’s waist, and he has a long way to grow.

 

He spots his father standing at the side, talking to one of his commanders, and Keith presses against his mother, whispering for permission.

 

She smiles when she sees his father, and they move over to join him. They stand together, the perfect picture of a family, and Keith doesn’t even try to wander around, despite how big the castle looks.

 

If there’s no one to wander around with, it’s no fun. And anyways, there are plenty of people here to watch. Plenty of food to eat, plenty of juice to drink.

 

Somehow, he thinks, watching his mother mingle with the guests. Somehow, she looks like she fits here more, with her pale skin and long hair, slender and beautiful. Her ears are different, however, rounded and small, and she doesn’t have the same cheek marks the Alteans do.

 

But her face lights up when she sees Keith’s father, and Keith’s father’s lips tug up only when he sees her, and Keith lingers at the side, watching the content couple.

 

“Keith,” his father says without looking back, and Keith hurries forward, letting his hand slip into the open palm his father has offered. “What are you doing all the way there?”

 

“I saw a blue lion,” Keith says quietly. “Big and blue. A robot.”

 

“Did you now?” His father says, amusement coloring his voice. “Clearly, someone needs to relook at how secure his hangar is.”

 

“What is it?” Keith asks.

 

His mother laughs a little, like wind in his ears, and Keith tries to catch it in his mind, tugging it close to his heart. “It’s exactly what you think it is. A blue robot lion.”

 

-=-

 

He has never asked how his father met his mother, when he has yet to see a planet full of people that look like his mother. He has never asked _why_ his father decided to bond with his mother, when the whole planet is full of people who look different from his mother.

 

“Your mother named you,” his father tells him in the training room, after a long bout of training and Keith is tired, panting on the floor, ears twitching in the direction of his father. “She named you Keith, a name from her planet.”

 

“Doesn’t sound like a name from here,” he says as he breathes heavily, and his father lets out a bark of laughter.

 

“Smart boy,” his father says, and leans down, scooping Keith up like he weighs nothing. Keith hangs limply in his arms, content to let his father carry him back to his room.

 

“It means you were born on the battleground,” his mother tells him later, pressing cool fingers against his fur. “A strong name.”

 

“I’m strong,” he says, leaning up to press against her fingers, chasing the feeling.

 

“Of course you are,” she replies, very matter-of-fact. “You are our son.”

 

Yes, he thinks. He’s their son, born on the battleground, full of strength, a mixture of two cultures.

 

-=-

 

Eventually, he finds out that his father is a Paladin. Someone gifted with unimaginable power, tasked with protecting the world from evil. He flies Black, a large black robot lion, similar to the one he found in the hangar back in Altea.

 

Keith focuses on the lion more than anything else, and he follows his father to the main hangar, eyes wide.

 

The lion is huge, stationary and unmoving, but it seemingly jolts awake when his father presses his hand against it’s leg. There’s a rumble and the lion settles on it’s haunches, leaning down and opening it’s mouth.

 

“Go on,” his father says, a hand on his back. “See for yourself.”

 

The cockpit is large and the dashboard’s a little too high for Keith to touch, but the whole place is impressive and awe-inspiring. Maybe he’ll get a lion too, when he’s past maturity. Maybe he’ll become a Paladin too.

 

His father’s bayard, however - that’s the best part.

 

It’s a transforming weapon. Nothing’s cooler than that.

 

-=-

 

When Keith is on the cusp of maturity, he meets a druid girl. Her skin is dark blue, red lines marking her face, tracing the path from her eyelids to her mouth, and she likes to wear a hood to cover her face.

 

She’s younger than him - by quite a few years, actually - and her name is Haggar.

 

Haggar is extremely talented with druid magic and she’s to be the new druid of the court, supposedly. There are rumors that her affinity with quintessence has never been seen before. Keith looks at her curiously, and he supposes he can feel the aura around her that reeks of magic, but she looks like she’s hunching, constantly hugging her abdomen, afraid to look anyone in the eye.

 

That won’t do.

 

“You should come visit my mother,” he tells her one day, when they’re hanging out near the foyer, watching the city bustle below. “She can teach you some stuff.”

 

“Your mother the human?” Haggar says, confusing leaking into her voice.

 

“Is that what she is?” Keith asks in return. He’s never heard that term. _Human_. He repeats it, wrapping his tongue around the syllable and trying to understand it. His mother’s never told him what she is.

 

“...Yes,” Haggar says hesitantly. “You would like me to meet her? Why?”

 

Keith looks at her, raising an eyebrow, and presses his hand briefly against her spine. She straightens like a beam of light just passed through her, but slouches again immediately after.

 

“You need to be more confident,” he tells her. “Stand up straight. Look people in the eye more. You’re going to be the druid of the court, aren’t you? That’s a pretty high power standing.”

 

“ _You’re_ the crown prince,” she shoots back. “You have the third highest power standing.”

 

“But we’re not talking about me right now, are we?” Keith points out, and Haggar shuts up.

 

-=-

 

His mother is the queen of confidence, the one who trained Keith to walk in a straight line and have his head tilted up, back ramrod straight, spine in one perfect line no matter the time of the day.

 

She breaks into Haggar like his father would crush an enemy, and Keith is the one who picks Haggar up off the ground after she’s tired from sitting straight for five hours without breaking position once.

 

Haggar starts standing straighter, talking to others more, and when people make fun of her for her skin - well, Keith doesn’t need to defend her anymore.

 

She’s the new druid of the court, and Keith watches as she sends a sentry into the wall with a flick of her hand. She’s full to the brim with unimaginable power.

 

Haggar looks back at him eyes bright, and Keith nods, a grin pulling at his lips.

 

Right now, she knows her position in the court, and she’s not about to let anyone walk over her.

 

She’s probably what his mother looked like in the beginning, after the bonding, Keith thinks. His mother, lips red and bloody, nails with blood crusted underneath and bruises on her arms, scars collecting on her legs as she fights her way up to his father’s side, asserting her power, her name, her position as queen.

 

His father didn’t need to step in. His mother can win her own battles.

 

-=-

 

And maybe, because life is too easy, because Keith has slowly taken everything for granted, because he’s gotten _lazy_ , fate decides to punish him. A wake-up call, of sorts.

 

As they’re on a ship, travelling to another planet to meet up with his father, someone sends his mother into a coma.

 

It’s magic - Keith can taste it, the cloying, numbing taste that soaks around his mother and keeps her asleep. The culprit is tied and trussed up in a corner, and Haggar is glaring at him like she’s about to kill him. Keith wouldn’t even stop her, if not for the fact that _he’d_ want to kill the culprit. His father would probably want that honor, though.

 

His mother had put up a fight, and the culprit is full of cuts and broken joints, bleeding from open wounds and body limp, unable to move. Keith can count at least eight broken fingers, a broken forearm, a shattered shin, and possibly dislocated shoulder and jaw.

 

Keith slams the culprit’s jaw back into place, ignoring the way he screams, and drags him to the screen where his father is seething. The culprit may have some information for them.

 

When his father first lays his eyes on the culprit, Keith can see the way he stops breathing, the calm before the storm, the way his eyes cool with a deadly glimmer, and Keith tightens his grip on the culprit.

 

“Haggar’s working on breaking the spell,” he says. “This- do you know which planet he’s from?”

 

“He’s a Luron,” his father says through clenched teeth. “They’ve been destroying planets for a long while.”

 

“You’ll never stop us,” the man shouts, and Keith can’t resist - he pulls his hand back and punches the guy, dislocating his jaw again. He’s mad - so, so mad, he can feel his blood roaring in his veins and his vision is blurring and oh, oh, there’re tears.

 

“I’ll settle this,” his father says, and Keith revels in the burning rage behind those words because his mother, his strong perfect vision of a mother is lying in bed behind closed doors, trapped in unconsciousness and he has no idea if Haggar has enough control over her magic to wake his mother.

 

He knocks the culprit unconscious and drags him into his mother’s room, throwing him in a corner where Keith can still watch him even as he sits next to his mother.

 

“How is she?” Keith asks quietly, fingers pressing against the barrier. It acts like a coffin, surrounding his mother and it’s impenetrable. Or rather, Keith’s too afraid to try and break it, in case it has a dire effect on his mother.

 

“I don’t-” Haggar sounds frustrated. “I can’t place this spell. I don’t know if I can counter it.”

 

“It won’t be your fault if you can’t,” Keith says, but his throat closes up and he chokes right after the sentence leaves his mouth. “Just- Just try.”

 

His mother looks like she’s sleeping, chest gradually moving up and down, and Keith- he can’t. He just can’t. He’s regressed to what he was before maturity, and he can feel his fur receding to pale skin before growing again.

 

He’s never lost control like this, never been able to _not_ control the shift after he hit maturity, and now the shift just keeps on going, caused by his anxiety and fear, elevated heartbeat and struggling breathing.

 

-=-

 

They’re in a meeting room with all the Paladins. An attendant is with his mother in the room opposite, and guards are stationed outside, with more guards lining the corridor and circling the castle. His father isn’t going to take chances anymore.

 

“How long will this go on?” His father says, voice calm, but Keith can detect a slight minuscule tremor. His father’s not holding up as well as he claims he is. “How long will they be allowed to continue destroying planets, destroying families, and hurting the universe? I’ve raised this plan since a long time ago, and I’m raising it again. They have to be stopped, once and for all, and we can’t just keep defending planets from their attacks or setting planets free from their oppressive rule. We have to start taking them _out_.”

 

“You’re not in the right frame of mind,” the man with the pointed ears - Alfor, he knows now - says. “We are meant to _defend_ the universe and protect it from evil. We are _not_ the ones to decide who lives and who doesn’t. At the most, we capture them and put them in prison.”

 

“And then what?” His father demands. “No prison is all-powerful. They’ll escape, like they’ve _done before_ , and they’ll wreck planets again. They’ll destroy families again. Alfor, what if they come after _you_ next? If they come after your wife, after your planet, what happens if they try to take your daughter from you?”

 

“I think he has a point,” Kilhn says, resting his arms on the table. “Alfor, I know you’re all up about not killing them, but we’ve followed your way for so many years and they’re still at it. How are we going to stop them? It’s clear our prisons can’t hold them, and it’s _startlingly clear_ that they aren’t above going after those who are precious to us, and I’m not about to risk my family just because we aren’t willing to take them down.”

 

“The moment we justify one death, it’s over,” Ikr points out. “The moment we tell ourselves we’re doing this for the greater good and kill someone, we’re going to justify every death.”

 

“Ikr, just _what_ do you think we’re doing when we shoot down Luron ships?” His father says irritatedly. “What do you think we’re doing when we fight them with our bayards? You’ve seen the damage we can cause, do you really think our hands are still _clean_?”

 

Produ stays quiet, eyes lingering on everyone as they speak, and Keith instantly knows his stance.

 

“We’ll take a vote,” Alfor offers. “If majority are willing to take down this empire once and for all, we do it. If not, we continue as we have done.”

 

And Keith- he knows what the outcome will be. That’s the danger of a democracy. He knows, he _knows he knows he knows_ and he isn’t ready to see it.

 

It’s three-two to Alfor’s side, and his father stands without a word, striding out of the room. Kilhn sighs, shaking his head, and Alfor looks up, catching Keith’s eyes.

 

“Do you understand our decision?” He says tiredly, and Keith- yeah, Keith understands. He _gets_ it. But somehow, it still doesn’t make _sense_.

 

“I don’t like it,” he says, crossing his arms. “If Allura died at the hands of the Luron, I’m going to wonder if you’re singing the same song. And it’s not like your hands are clean, anyways, like what my father said. If taking them out once and for all will finally rid the universe of an oppressive, threatening, dictating empire, I don’t see why you shouldn’t do it.”

 

He turns, following his father out of this room and into his mother’s room.

 

-=-

 

His planet is one that loves their royalty. They love his father, they love his mother, they love him, now that he’s hit maturity. The children who once bullied him are part of the military, laughing and joking around with him sometimes, all grown up.

 

And when one of their royalty is attacked, they rise up, hands finding old guns they hid in dusty storerooms, blacksmith shops suddenly getting a boom in business, and weapons are set to the grind.

 

His father stands at the head of everything, eyes cold with a steel Keith hasn’t seen before.

 

His mother sleeps on.

 

-=-

 

Alfor makes the decision to pull Black out of his father’s hands. It happens while his father is off destroying the Luron Empire, and Black is left back at base for backup. His father is on his way back to get Black, actually, since it’ll be the final weapon to destroy the Luron Empire. Altea’s still aligned with their planet, so Alfor’s ship makes it in easy-as-you-please.

 

Keith isn’t aware of this, because he’s watching over his mother, whose breaths have been slowing, and she looks paler. Haggar is trying, trying so hard, but she isn’t making much progress.

 

A screen pops up on the wall, projected by a blue vibrating device, and Keith starts when he sees his father there, brimming with fury.

 

“Alfor took the Black Lion,” his father spits out through gritted teeth. “He has betrayed me further than I thought possible.”

 

“Can’t you defeat them without the Black Lion?”  


“We can, but it’s the principle of the situation.” His father tightens the grip on his armrests. “They have turned their backs on us and ignored us when we asked for help. They have _stolen_ what belongs to me. This calls for _battle_.”

 

“I think Alfor’s just worried.” Keith picks at a stray thread. “They don’t want to involve themselves in this fight because they don’t agree, or something.”

 

His father levels a long look at him, and Keith swallows.

 

“Keith,” his father says, and it’s gentle, void of any anger, something Keith hasn’t heard in a long while. “Do you not agree with my methods?”

 

He swallows again, throat closing up. “I- I just think you shouldn’t attack Altea? I mean, them not helping you was bad, them taking Black away was bad, and I _guess_ it was betrayal, but to the point of waging a- _war_ on them is a little-”

 

“Keith,” his father repeats, and his eyes are sad- kind, gentle, understanding, but sad. “Simply put, you _don’t_ agree with my methods.”

 

“... Yes.” Keith confesses, and his back shakes with the effort to not hunch over himself and cry. “I’m sorry.”

 

“Don’t be.” His father dismisses his apology with a wave of his hand. “Your mother and I brought you up to think for yourself. Cherish your opinions.” The tension bleeds out of his shoulders, and he leans forward, peering at Keith.

 

“If you don’t wish to be witness to all of this, or play a part, then I will have to ask you to leave.” His voice is tinged with sorrow, and Keith’s heart speeds up, eyes growing wide, mouth agape. _Leave?_

 

“Leave?” He voices his thoughts, shaking with anxiety. “Did I- did I do something wrong?”

 

“You are your mother’s son, as much as you are mine,” his father explains. “We are people of war. If a planet slights us, we must respond in kind. Your mother wasn’t exactly pleased with that concept.” He smiles faintly, and Keith’s not sure if he’s crying. He’s never seen his father cry. “And if you disagree with that, you will have to leave us, before your duty as crown prince drags you into this war.”

 

“I don’t- where- I don’t want to go,” Keith mumbles. “Please don’t make me go.”

 

“You need to, to avoid this war,” his father says gently. “You will go to Earth, the planet your mother came from.”

 

It sounds interesting, going to Earth, but he’s just lost a mother - maybe not yet, but soon, definitely soon, with the speed at which she loses the color in her cheeks - and now he’s to forsake a father?

 

“No,” Keith says, vision blurring, eyes bright with tears. “I don’t want to.”

 

“You do,” his father tells him, and his smile is pained, and yes, those are tears, and oh god, Keith doesn’t want to _hear anymore_. “I will arrange with Haggar the details.”

 

“ _Please_ ,” Keith begs. “I’ll fight, I’ll help in the war, just don’t make me go.”

 

“I am not about to force you to do something you don’t truly want, just because you’re afraid of losing me too. Your mother would kill me.” His father shakes his head and stands, pressing his fingers against the screen.

 

Keith does the same, desperately, pressing as hard as he can against the screen.

 

“You are the son of Zarkon,” his father whispers under his breath. “And you are your mother’s son. Keith, you were born on the battleground, and you are destined for strength. You are the crown prince of an empire that will never die.”

 

“ _Father_ ,” Keith says, and there are tears running down his cheeks.

 

“Chin up,” his father says. “Don’t cry. They can’t hurt you.”

 

That’s right, Keith thinks, crying like a child. They can’t hurt him.

 

-=-

 

Haggar pushes him into a pod that will take him to Earth. It’s small, just enough for one person to fit in, and for some unknown reason, there’s a timer.

 

“Bye,” she says, back ramrod straight, head tilted up, shoulders thrown back. She looks every bit of the druid of the court.

 

Keith chokes a little. “Bye,” he replies, and opens his arms a little.

 

She throws herself into his arms, hugging the life of out him, and he does the same, desperately hugging back- she steps back all too soon, eyes red and she tosses him into the pod and throws a bunch of magic at him.

 

It makes his eyes heavy and his heart slow, and as he looks at Haggar, his vision grows fuzzy.

 

“Goodbye, my prince,” she chokes out one last time, and slams the pod shut.

 

-=-

 

It takes him a while to wake up, to make sense of everything.

 

When he does, he realises he’s in the middle of a desert. Or rather, there’s a bunch of red rocks all around, and a building in the distance.

 

He’s - he’s wearing something strange. A black shirt and pants, the kind his mother has in her closet. He checks his pockets and- there’s a note.

 

_10 000 years should have passed by now. Your father told me to do this._

 

_Have faith, Keith. You are the crown prince of our empire. You will always have a higher power standing than me._

 

It chokes him up, and he stands there for a while, the bottom of his palms pressed into his eyelids as he tilts his head up to the sky and tries not to cry.

 

There’s a building up ahead. He might as well try it to see what happens.

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a review with your thoughts or drop by my [twitter](https://twitter.com/zxrysky) and [tumblr](http://zxrysky.tumblr.com/) .


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